An intriguing sonnet. The first six lines are an ironic invitation to list all the things that two people have never done for one another. The second six say the same thing by ironically asserting the reverse: how thankful the N is that they’ve given each other so much. The last two lines confess to regret. I particularly like the conversational “Me first” and “It’s better like this, don’t you think?” and the heavy irony reminds me of Tsvetaeva’s “It’s nice that I’m not lovesick over you.” I don’t really understand a gift leading to homely roads or tracing stores of future bones or regret spun at accidental bidding, and maybe I don’t need to. The central thought is clear enough, but I get the impression that it’s been dressed up in some tricky language. That may just be my usual denseness about such things.
Two specific nits: 1) There’s a period missing after “bones”; 2) “at times I’ve tried”—You’ve tried to repay gifts that were never given? I guess this poem would count as such repayment, but I wonder if it isn’t an irony too far.
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